


a fool for sacrifice

by icebucky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform, abusive!John, the night Sam left for Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icebucky/pseuds/icebucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You could stay," Sam says against his neck, his voice so muffled and broken that Dean thinks that he imagined it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a fool for sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Dean drives Sam to Stanford after the legendary fight with John, and instead of going back, he makes the split second decision to stay.
> 
> Also this is my first wincest fic so be gentle with me

There is a ringing in his ears and a pounding in his head and he knows this is wrong, but he can't stop what's happening.

His dad is yelling, standing too close to Sam, too close in the way that Dean's tried to prevent for his entire life, always jumping in between them while Sammy hid behind his legs, but Sammy's taller now, Sammy's tall enough to get in Dad's face and his voice is deeper now, his voice is deeper and full of anger, it's no longer that reedy teenager's voice, Sam's  _eighteen_ , and he's trying to go to college, but of course, Dad won't let him.

"It's not your decision to make!" Sam's yelling, literally in the middle of shoving his stuff into a bag, not that he has all that much, and when their father grabs his shoulder and spins him backward, Dean doesn't realize he's moving until he's across the room.

"Who the fuck do you think you  _are_ -" John begins but stops himself when he feels Dean's hand on his arm. His heart is pounding and he doesn't know what he's doing, the most he's ever done in the past is stand between Dad and Sam and take the blame for everything, but he can't take the blame for this, so all he can do is protect his baby brother from one person who should never have hurt either of them.

"Don't," he says, his voice low, barely more than a whisper, and his gut twists, he knows there's no way his dad will take him seriously if he doesn't speak up. He clears his throat, feels Sam shift behind him, and knows that those wide hazel eyes are fixed on him when he opens his mouth again. "Don't touch him like that."

"Dean," he hears from behind him, and he takes his attention away from his father's hard eyes to look at his brother, his baby brother who as tall as him suddenly, incredibly, and Sam's mouth is a sharp line, so different from his usual easy grin, and the words that come out of it are some that he's heard so many times before, but somehow, it's different now. "I can take care of myself."

“Your brother’s right, this is between us,” his father says, and Dean stiffens, jaw clenching, and he knows he should stay out of this, it’s Sam’s business, but fuck it, Sam’s business has always been his business, he’s been trained from the age of four to think more about Sam than about himself and if Sam leaves he doesn’t know who he is anymore.

“Like hell it is,” Dean says, letting go of his father’s arm and stepping back, noting how both sets of eyes follow him, and he sets his shoulders, prepared to deliver something that’s been brewing at the back of his mind for quite some time. “It’s not like you ever had a problem yelling at me in front of Sam, how is this any different? Do you want me to leave the room?”

The only reaction is Sam shifting his weight and something in his eyes softening, but John’s expression doesn’t change.

Dean wants to drop a speech about how John Winchester took his entire life away from him, and forced him to be a mother and a father and an older brother to the lanky boy standing across from him, but he’s not there yet, he’s not brave like Sam is, he can’t stand up to their father because he’s been the shield the entire time.

Sam never knew what it was like when their father came home drunk and angry, when a hunt went sideways and he took it out on Dean, Sammy was always hidden from it because Dean told him to _go outside, go into the bathroom, go pretend you’re asleep, Sammy, it’s gonna be okay_. Sam never knew about this because Dean was always there standing between them, and he shrugged off the bruises and told Sammy that he got in a fight at school, and Sam would tell him to stand up to his bullies and Dean would just smile and let the conversation die.

He knows he can’t open up this can of worms, not now, not when he needs to get Sam out of this house as soon as possible, not when their father is seething and Dean can feel the keys to the Impala burning a hole in his pocket. He looks at Sam, who reaches behind him and starts putting his clothes in his duffel again, and Dean turns to his father, eyes burning, and says, “Do you have any idea how smart your son is?”

“This isn’t about how smart he is,” John replies, anger apparent in every line of his body. “He’s abandoning us to go and throw his life away on something stupid, when there are people who are _dying_ –”

“Throw my _life_ away?” Sam interjects, standing, and goddammit, Dean wants to shove him down and make him keep packing. “I’m _already_ throwing my fucking life away, Dad! What more do you want from me? I was raised in this shitstorm, and this isn’t my crusade, it’s _yours._ Mom died when I was _six months old_ , do you expect me to continue to avenge her for the rest of my goddamn life? I can’t believe you would be so selfish –”

He’s cut off by his father swinging at him and cuffing him in the jaw.

"What the  _fuck_ was that?"

Dean didn’t realize that it was him yelling until he sees John turned to him, his hand still in a fist, Sam knocked onto the nearest bed, grimacing and holding his hand to his jaw.

"What?" John asks, stepping towards Dean.

Three years ago Dean would have been terrified, but he doesn’t give a shit about his own safety right now. He’s trying so hard not to be like his father in this instant, he wants to be so much better than that, but he can’t feel anything besides the pounding _red_ feeling in his chest and behind his eyelids and he’s not afraid, he’s faced worse than this and won. “You do _not_ touch him like that,” Dean hisses, eyes narrowing, fists clenching.

"Excuse me?"

Perhaps it’s not the most eloquent thing for him to do, but Dean mimics his father’s move earlier and slams his right fist into his face.

“What kind of a bastard hits their kid when he gets into college?” Dean shouts, standing close to his father so that he has to lean away to avoid his son’s shout in his ear. “What the fuck kind of parenting book did you pick up? He got a _full ride_ to fuckin’ _Stanford_ , do you even know how fuckin’ hard that is? Do you have any fucking idea how smart your son is?” He pauses, stepping back and walking over to Sam, who’s staring at him, something Dean can’t understand in his eyes.

He thinks he hears Sammy whisper his name, but he’s too angry to care. “You know what, fuck you. Most dads, when their kid gets into college, they throw a fuckin’ party. I don’t know, maybe you didn’t know this ‘cause your first draft was too stupid to be in the same situation,” he can hear Sam make a scoffing sound, but he ignores it, “but _most dads_ don’t tell their kid that they’re a disgrace and punch them in the fuckin’ jaw.”

John’s staring at him, and Dean’s not sure why he hasn’t said anything yet. Maybe it’s because Dean’s never said something like this before, maybe it’s because he’s never liked the way Sam and Dean stand so close together and how they spend all their time with each other, but if he doesn’t like that then he can fuck off, because he’s the one who made them like that.

Several seconds pass, the silence overwhelming, but the quiet is ended when Sam zips his bag shut and stands, eyes locked on Dean’s, biting his lower lip. He doesn’t look at John as he says, in a carefully measured voice, “Dean, can I get a ride to the bus station?”

Dean tears his gaze away from Sam for a second to glance at their father, who still isn’t moving or speaking. “I’ll take you all the way to fuckin’ California, Sammy,” Dean says, trying and failing to crack a grin, and ending up with a strange jerking smile instead.

They were planning on leaving town the next morning anyway, so Dean grabs his bag and some shampoo bottles from the bathroom and opens the door to the motel.

“C’mon, Sammy,” he says, and Sam leaves without looking back.

Dean only glances once at their father before stepping out and slamming the door behind him.

***

The ride to Palo Alto is mostly silent, with Dean’s classic rock tapes humming a comforting backdrop.

Dean doesn’t want to think about Sam leaving, so he focuses on the road in front of him, tapping the wheel and singing softly, occasionally glancing over at his sleeping brother in the passenger seat.

Sam’s still a little boy to him, and it’s so fucking weird to think that he’s leaving, and he’s going to college, and Dean’s staying.

They’re on the road for about twelve hours, and Sam sleeps for most of it, but since they started driving at around two in the morning, by the time it’s 8:30, Dean pulls into a diner and stops the car, smacking his brother on the chest to wake him up. “C’mon, Sammy. We gotta eat.”

Sam exhales sharply, a sound that’s all sleep, but gets up and follows Dean into the diner.

They end up spending a whole hour in there, Dean giving Sam advice on what to do with girls and _remember to eat_ and _study but don’t live in the library_ and _make friends, you nerd, you didn’t have any friends in high school_.

“That’s because we went to so many high schools that there wasn’t even a point in making friends,” Sam replies, a smile curling the corner of his mouth. He leans back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“Hey, that’s my philosophy. Get your own,” Dean answers, stealing a piece of bacon off of Sam’s plate.

Sam laughs lightly, a small puff of air more than a real laugh, but his smile is a real one now, and he shifts his weight, looking down. After a moment, he says, without looking at his brother, “You’re not stupid, you know.”

“What?” Dean asks, his gaze on Sam sharpening.

“I mean, you’re an idiot and a dork, but you’re not stupid. You’re really fucking smart, Dean.”

“Why…” Dean swallows, trying to fight the lump in his throat. “Why are you saying this?”

Sam looks up, and Dean fights the urge to push his hair out of his face, it’s getting too long, but Sam’s old enough to take care of it himself. “You told Dad that you were too stupid to get into college, but he should still be able to celebrate the fact that I was smart enough to get in. That’s not true, Dean. You’re not stupid.”

“Yeah, well, my transcript would beg to differ,” he replies, trying to shrug off the gravity of what Sammy is saying.

“Your transcript only begs to differ because you didn’t _try_ , Dean. And I know you didn’t try because you were too busy trying to take care of me.” Dean’s been avoiding his brother’s eyes, but at this, he snaps his gaze to Sam’s. “You love learning, I know you do. You fucking _liked_ school, but you didn’t have time to deal with it because of all the shit that Dad put on you, so yeah, you act like you don’t care, but you do, I know you do.”

“You don’t have to say this, Sammy.”

“Yes, I do, now shut up. I’ve seen you hunt, and figure out cases, and fix the car, and talk to girls, and get more out of witnesses than I ever could. You’re a genius.” Sam sets his jaw and leans back, crossing his arms. “Don’t fucking forget that when I’m gone.”

Dean looks down, the lump in his throat starting to get painful. “I don’t think I can, Sammy.”

Sam sniffs, and looks away, out the window. “Okay, good.”

Dean pays and they get back into the car.

***

Seven hours later, they pull into the parking lot of the dorm that Sam’s going to be staying in. “You want my help moving in?” Dean asks, but his voice catches on the last word and he won’t look at Sam.

It’s a weak attempt at a joke, they both know that Sam only has one bag, but it’s all Dean can think to say in this situation.

Sam coughs, sniffs, and opens the car door. “Uh, yeah,” he says, not looking at Dean. “Maybe not so much moving in, but more, settling in, I guess.”

“Okay,” Dean replies, in a voice barely more than a whisper. He walks around and opens the trunk, hits Sam’s hand when he tries to reach for the duffel. “I got it, nerd,” he says, and Sam immediately shoves him back, but it’s softer than it normally is, and shit, they’re so close in height now and Sam’s standing too close to him, someone’s gonna see, but Dean can’t bring himself to care as much as he would before because Sam’s looking at him like he hung the moon and for the five seconds that he allows himself to stand there it’s just so nice to have someone look at him like that.

Not just someone. Sam. But _someone_ is the more politically correct term, and if he ever tells anyone about the moment that just passed, he’ll replace Sam with a nameless girl in a nameless town.

That exact action is something that Dean feels he’ll be doing a lot of in the near future.

He clears his throat and grabs Sam’s bag, and they both step back, shutting the trunk and beginning to walk towards the building. “Lead the way, Sammy,” he says, and Sam smiles at him before heading forward.

After checking in and getting the key, they end up in Sam’s room, the duffel sitting on the bed that Sam decided was his, the room empty except for the two of them and Sam’s worn bag.

“You know who your roommate is?”

“No, they didn’t tell me.”

“Hope he’s not a weirdo.”

“Yeah.”

There’s no use prolonging the inevitable, so after they hang up Sam’s clothes and set up his few books and get his bed made and all that shit, Dean’s standing in the middle of the room with Sam leaning against the small bed and he feels more lost than he’s ever felt in his entire life. He doesn’t want to leave, but he knows he has to, and that’s fucking with him more than the thought that he might have to go back to John after this.

He clears his throat. “Well, unless you want me to stick around, I’m gonna take off. You good, Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, looking around at the room. “Yeah, I guess.”

They look at each other for another half a second before Dean steps forward and wraps his little brother in a crushing hug, Sam’s hands coming up to hold him as tight as possible around his back, and even though Sam is well on his way to being taller than Dean, he tucks his chin into Dean’s shoulder like he did when he was little and just _buries_ his face in his older brother’s neck.

Dean can hear Sam’s shuddering breath against his neck and that almost makes him lose it, almost makes him break, but he holds it together and holds Sam as close as he can, hoping to god that no one’s going to walk in and see them hugging like this.

“You could stay,” Sam says against his neck, his voice so muffled and broken that Dean thinks that he imagined it.

“…What?” Dean whispers, fingers tightening on Sam’s shoulders.

“You could stay,” Sam repeats into Dean’s neck. “I want you to stay, please stay.”

He shouldn’t, Dean knows. He should let Sam be his own person, grow into a man on this campus and become who he’s wanted to be for the longest time, but he can’t let his brother go, he can’t let the one good thing in his life go like this, it’s too much too soon. Dean doesn’t know where he’d live, doesn’t know what he’d do with his life, he doesn’t know what would even happen, with this, but Sam’s asking him to stay, and he’s always been putty in his little brother’s hands when he asked for something like this.

“Okay,” Dean breathes out, moving his arms so that they’re not against Sam’s upper back anymore, but tight on his lower.

Sam leans back, loosening his arms, so that they’re on top of Dean’s shoulders with his fingers laced behind his neck like how a lover would stand, and Dean’s almost uncomfortable with what’s happening but he can’t take his eyes off Sam’s face and how his mouth curls into a sweet bow, his nose and the little mole next to it, and how he has those dimples and the hair falling into his eyes, and it’s okay as long as he doesn’t do anything about this, this feeling coiling in his gut that swirls out and makes him tingle and smile and blush when Sam is near to him because Sam is his entire world, and around him Dean’s simultaneously more nervous than he’s ever been but also the most comfortable that it’s possible to be.

“Thank you,” Sam says, with the most sincerity that Dean’s ever heard come out of his incredibly sincere mouth.

“Yeah, of course, Sammy,” Dean manages to get out, and Sam’s still in that position, and he’s sure that if someone walks in, they’ll think that they’re lovers instead of brothers.

That idea is further confirmed when Dean watches something flicker in Sam’s eyes, a tiny debate going on in his mind, before he takes his hands from behind Dean’s neck, frames his face with them, and kisses him.

At first it’s soft, short, and gentle, because Dean’s too shocked to open his mouth, even though he _wants_ to, and he comes off as unyielding and unresponsive. Sam backs off, eyes wide and hazel and brilliant, and he lets go of Dean and steps away, wringing his hands. “Shit, Dean, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, shit, can we just pretend like that didn’t happen?”

Dean knows he must have some incredulous expression on his face, but he looks at Sam and something fits into place in his heart.

“No,” he says, and Sam looks at him, fear in his eyes. “Sammy, I don’t _want_ to act like that didn’t happen.”

“You – you don’t?” he asks, faint hope on his face.

“Hell no,” Dean replies, his voice rough with emotion. He steps forward and takes Sam’s face in his hands, kissing him as quickly as possible, and it ends up more rough than he was planning, but Sam reciprocates, his mouth letting Dean in and feeling exactly the way that Dean thought it would, exactly what he needed his entire life, and if Dean wasn’t sure that staying was the right thing for him to do before this, then this was the confirmation he needed.

Just like last night, there’s a ringing in his ears and a pounding in his head and he knows that people think this is wrong, but he doesn’t want to stop what’s happening, because for him, this is so incredibly right.


End file.
